by E. K. Blair
When he hooks his fingers under the waistband of my shorts, I clench my eyes tightly shut, panic coursing through me. I choke back a silent sob, and when I open my eyes to stop him, I see a pained look on his face. He's sitting back and slowly brushing his thumb over my tattoo, staring at it intently. His touch is jittery on my skin, and when his eyes shift to mine, I can't take the panic that is still coursing through my body.
I quickly shift up to my knees and throw my arms around his neck, just needing to feel safe in his hold. It takes him a while, but he eventually wraps his arms slowly, almost hesitantly, around me. I grip him tightly, trying hard to not freak out in front of him, and I notice his body trembling under my arms. I don't say anything because I am still so consumed with anxiety and wondering if he can tell how scared I just got when he touched me like he did.
Silently freaking out, neither one of us moves. We cling to each other and let time pass.
Eventually, I feel my heart slow, and I begin to soften in his arms.
"Candace."
"Please, don't say anything."
And he doesn't as he lies us down and pulls the covers over us.
When we wake up the next morning, Ryan is really quiet and seems tense. I notice his eyes are a bit bloodshot, and I ask him, "Did you not sleep last night?"
"Not too much," he says while pouring me a cup of coffee to take with me before he drives me home.
We've barely spoken this morning, and he hasn't been his usual affectionate self with me. In fact, I feel like he's avoiding me. I'm feeling extremely self-conscious; not only because of what happened last night, but also the way he is acting today. I'm sure he's getting tired of me always pushing him away. From my run in with Gina last night, I can tell he's used to getting what he wants without having to wait.
"You ready?" he asks.
"Yeah." I'm surprised when he takes my hand as he walks me to his jeep.
When he pulls up into my driveway and parks, I turn to him and say, "I'm sorry about last night, and I get that you're mad, but—"
"What?" he interrupts. "Why would I be mad?"
Suddenly feeling very unsure of the situation, I say, "Because I keep pushing you away. You've hardly said two words to me this morning. So, I just figured..."
He turns away from me and gets out of the car. I watch him, confused, as he walks around to my side and opens the door. He reaches over me and unclicks my seatbelt, turning me toward him.
"Everything you give me is perfect. You have to stop feeling like this. I'm here with you, and I'm not going anywhere." He leans in to kiss me, and his words bring me relief. "I'm sorry if I've been a dick, I just didn't get much sleep."
"It's okay. I overreacted."
Helping me out of the car, he kisses me again before leaving.
When I walk inside, Kimber is studying on the couch, and I've never felt more awkward around her since she asked me to move out.
"Who was that?" she asks as I walk across the room.
Turning to her, I ask, "Who?"
"That guy you just kissed in the driveway. I wasn't spying or anything, but you're right outside the window."
I look out the large bay window then back at her. She looks sad when I say, "Oh, um, his name's Ryan."
"You dating?"
"Yeah," I say, and I can tell that she is upset. I'm guessing it's the same sadness I felt when I found out about her and Seth. I want to talk to her, to tell her all about him and how great he is, but I can't. We aren't like that anymore, and I know she's hurting more than me as each day we grow more distant.
"Well, I have to go get ready for school," I softly say and then walk out of the room.
Seeing her now, after yesterday, is awful. I hate knowing that I've hurt her this much. I feel like I've lost her, and it's hard to be in the same house as her when we both feel the way that we do.
When I pick up my phone, with apprehension, I type out my text.
Can I stay with you?
I hold my phone with nervous hands and wait for the reply.
Of course babe.
After I had texted Ryan about staying with him, he came over later that night when I got off work to help me pack a few bags. Thankfully, Kimber wasn't home. It was hard enough trying to pack when I was so upset. But I know I need a little time away from this house so that emotions can settle.
I thought it would be weird staying with Ryan, but he's been able to keep the weirdness away. I know he's happy that I ran to him instead of Jase. But after knowing how he feels about Jase and me sleeping in the same bed, I knew I couldn't stay with him.
My sleep has been a little more restless lately and filled with night terrors since I stopped taking my sleeping pills last week. Taking them was always hard for me; a daily reminder of why I need to be on them and it was only becoming worse. So I hoped that enough time had passed, and I wouldn't need them anymore. I haven't had another nightmare though, which has been a relief. My restless sleep worries Ryan, but I just told him it's because of stress with school, graduation, and my issues with Kimber. I know it's a lie, but I told him that regardless.
Jase and Mark have been spending more time at the loft as well, now that I'm there. They tend to come over, or at least Jase does, when Ryan goes into work at night. They have both been scouting out firms to start applying to in a few months. I try not to think about what graduation will mean for Ryan and I. He hasn't ever said anything or asked, so if it's been on his mind, he doesn't want me to know. Truth is, I could wind up staying if this is where my job is. I have no idea where I will wind up, but for the moment, I want to enjoy being right where I am.
Ryan makes me happy, and I desperately need that. I still have my moments where I think I'm going to see Jack at school, or that he's going to walk into the coffee shop. And I know he's the cause of my restless sleep. Every time I take off my clothes, I'm reminded of him, of that night. He left a scar on my breast where he bit me so hard that he broke my skin. I can still remember the pain that shot down to my belly. Ryan has never seen it because the few times he's taken off my shirt, I never let him take off my bra. But he's seen my tattoo; the foolish tattoo I got when I thought it was time to abandon my cautious ways and have a little fun. Who knew fun would have left me battered, lying on a street by a dumpster? But, when I'm next to Ryan, he takes almost all of that away from me. I only wish he could take it all away.
"Candace Parker, please take the stage." My name echoes throughout Meany Theater. Nerves course through me, as they do every time I walk across this stage. Walking to the center, I find my spot and posture myself in fifth position. The thump of the spotlight being turned on is loud as it casts its glow down on me. And as it does, like all the times in the past on this very stage, my body relaxes and I am free when the music begins.
I let go, and do what I have been training for during the past six months. My body knows exactly what to do as I work the floor. The comforting sounds of my ripped satin pointes gliding across the stage, and the thuds of my boxes only add to the peace I feel when I am on this stage. I know I don't have to concentrate on my turnouts and port a bras, my body does it for me.
One haunting beat after another, I feel it pouring out of me: the pain, the darkness, the weakness; it's all there on the smooth black floor beneath my feet. My spots hit hard and sharp, and I know my lines are perfection when I feel the pinching in my back. My ankles are warm and loose when I move into my fouettè combination during the peak of the music. When I flow out of it, naturally leading with my heel to further push my turnout, I progress through the piece. The return of the staccato brushes of the violin pushes the music to its drop into silence.
The spotlight thumps off, and I can finally see the panel of instructors as they are taking notes. There are nine of them. I've been with them for the past four years, dancing in their classes and learning from them.
None of them look at me, and when I hear the voice of Sergej through the speakers announcing the next dancer, I walk off the stag
e and hope it isn't the last time I will grace it alone.
My heart races the whole drive back to Ryan's. I can't get out of the car fast enough when I pull into his driveway. I run up the stairs and burst through the door, throwing my bag on the wooden floor. When I see Ryan walking down the hall from his office, I run like a child and jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist.
"I take it you kicked ass?" he asks through his laughs.
I can't wipe the cheesy smile off my face. "I totally kicked ass. It was amazing!"
My legs are strong around his waist when he takes his hands off of my hips, places them on my cheeks, and kisses me. I slam my mouth onto his as he pushes me up against the hallway wall, but we don't stay connected for long because I cannot stop talking and laughing, telling him each detail when I know he has no clue what the hell I'm saying, but I don't care and I know he doesn't either. He just watches me in my excitement with his beautiful smile.
He never moves me from the wall, and I keep my lock around his waist as he lets me ramble on.
"I'm so proud of you, babe. I wish I could have seen you," he says when I finally stop talking.
"I know. I'm sorry. Auditions are always closed," I say as I run my fingers through his hair.
"When will you find out?"
"March first."
"Next week?"
"Yeah, Friday."
Pulling his head in, I kiss him again, and he begins to mumble over my lips that don't want to stop. "I've got news too."
Still not willing to break my lips from his, I mutter, "What's that?"
"Thinkspace Gallery called."
I snap my head back as a new wave of excitement begins to flow through me. "And...?"
"They accepted your photo."
"Your photo?!"
"No, your photo, babe," he says softly and he rests his head against mine.
I smile at his words. I can't help myself. He knows how tense I was when he took that picture that he refuses to take credit for it.
"Congratulations," I say when he changes our pace and slowly presses tighter against me, tenderly pressing his lips over mine. I rake my fingers through his hair, and I am overcome with happiness. Happy about having a great audition, happy that Ryan's photograph will be displayed in an art gallery, and happy that I am sharing this moment with him. Everything about Ryan floods my being, and I want no one else.
He pulls back and looks into my eyes and when he does, I see it all. I see it clearly; he loves me, and I know I'm safe.
"What is it, babe?"
Brushing my hand down the side of his face, I give him a part of me that I've been holding tightly to.
"I love you."
I know he's been waiting a long time for me to get here, but I know it's okay when I look into his clear eyes and see the lines appear at the corners when his smile grows.
"You'll never know what those words just did to me," he says and he carries me over to the couch, where we proceed to make out like a couple of kids. This might not be typical for anyone else our age, but it's us, and I love us.
I'm not sure where I am when I wake up. I try to sit up, but I'm paralyzed. Looking up, I see the dark sky filled with tiny sparkling specks of stars.
"Ryan?"
There's no answer in the stillness. When I roll my head to the side, I see a rust covered wheel and lock. It's familiar. I inhale the damp summer air.
Wait. It's supposed to be winter.
"Ryan?"
Where is he?
I focus my attention back on the rust, and when I finally realize why it looks so familiar, I jerk my head back to the stars, but they're gone, and my heart stops.
His taunting laughs fill the silent night as his devilish eyes peer into mine.
"Ryan!"
Leaning in, his hot breath on my face, his voice a quiet firm growl, "Shut the fuck up."
He strikes my cheek with the back of his knuckles, and my face burns when the tears begin to prick out. Trying with everything I have in me, I can't move. I'm frozen on the rough concrete as he stares down at me—laughing. He starts to unbutton his pants, and I begin to lose control and shriek for Ryan, but no one is here to help me. My heart is pounding in my chest so hard my ribs ache. The terror singes through my veins, and I scream, "Please, not again."
"This time, you're gonna fucking like it," he sneers as he pulls my shirt up and rips my bra down. All I can do is dig my brittle nails into the cement. My blood-covered hands shake and sting as I cry helplessly on the ground. His mouth is all over me as I beg him to stop.
I turn to find the dumpster, but it's no longer there. I need that dumpster to take my mind away and it's not fuckin' there!
My stomach convulses with each button he pops open on my jeans.
"Get off of me!"
Ripping off my underwear, he slides his hand between my legs, and I begin shrieking out violent sobs.
Gripping my upper arms, he holds me down as I keep screaming through my labored breaths, "Get the fuck off of me!"
Panic and confusion hit me hard when I see Ryan's face above me instead of Jack. Suddenly, I feel my legs moving, and I begin to kick in a frenzy to get out of his tight grip. When I look back up, I see Jack again. He dips his head and licks up my throat.
"God, please stop!" I wail.
"Candace, wake up."
Thrashing under Jack's grip, I'm no longer paralyzed, and I'm no longer being pinned down.
I hear myself screaming as I shuffle back in a panic, trying to escape. I feel myself fall on my hip. Not able to get to my feet, I clumsily continue to shuffle on my hands, desperate to get away.
All I hear is Jack laughing at me.
When the wall hits my back, his hands are on my shoulders, and I scream, "Don't fuckin' touch me!" as I curl into a ball, covering my face with my hands. I continue to scream the same thing over and over until I no longer hear Jack, but Ryan.
Ryan!
"Candace, open your eyes."
But I can't. I don't know what's happening, what's real. My breathing is erratic, and I am engulfed in fear. I'm still sobbing. I don't know how to stop.
"Candace, please. Look at me. It's only me here with you."
My arms are stiff when he touches my wrists to move my hands away from my face. I don't want him to see me—not like this. When he moves my hands, I turn my face away from him, wanting to somehow disappear.
"Babe, please don't hide from me."
Trying to take in some air through my cries, I choke on my breath, and when I do, he pulls me close, and I just fall into him. His arms are so tight around me, and I know it's only him.
I don't know what I was thinking not taking my pills anymore. How could I be so stupid to think I was strong enough to be okay without them? Now I'm consumed with worry and dread. What the hell is Ryan going to do or say? What am I going to do or say? What do I do?
God, what do I do?
I'm curled up tight in Ryan's lap, and he is stroking my hair with his fingers. I'm so embarrassed. But, he doesn't give me a choice from eluding this when he leans back to look at me.
Closing my eyes, he says, "You have to look at me. Please."
When I feel the heat of his hands on my face, I blink my eyes open and slowly shift my eyes to him. His expression is worried as he scans my face.
"You okay?"
I nod my head.
"What happened?"
I drop my head and rest it on his chest as he rubs my back. I just want to hide and not have to look at him.
With hesitation, I ask, "Can you please call Jase?"
"What?" he says in disbelief, and I don't blame him. "Shit, Candace, no."
A new round of tears begin to flow, and I hear the desperation in my voice when I urge, "Please."
"Candace, no. You can't always run to him. Need me for change. Talk to me."
"I can't," I cry out.
"Yes, you can."
"No, I can't. Please. I just can't"
"But you can
with Jase?"
I'm sobbing now, but Ryan never lets go of me.
"I want you to need me," he says.
"I do."
"You don't; you cling to him for everything." He takes my hands and presses them against his bare chest, over his heart. "Look at me," he demands, and when I do, he tells me, "Cling to me. Love me enough to need me."
"I can't...I..."
"Why?"
I know he's not going to drop this, and I begin to get angry. Angry that I'm even in this position right now.
"Because, you'd leave me."
"Not happening, babe."
"Ryan, please," I plead.
"I'm not leaving you. Nothing you could say would make me want to leave you."
"I'm just too fucked up."
"We're all fucked up," he says. "I want you to let me in."
I know there is no way out of this. But how? How do I do this?
He grabs my hands again when I try to cover my face as my cries quake through me.
"I can't! You'll never look at me the same. You'll run away."
When I say this, he slides his hand around the back of my head and pulls me against him as he sighs out. I cry in his chest as he says, "I promise you, nothing will change the way I look at you. Nothing will change what you do to me when you're next to me. You make my heart beat in a completely different way—nothing will ever change that."
I finally wrap my arms around him, hanging on with everything I have. "I'm so embarrassed," I confess around my cries.
"God, babe." I can hear the pain in his voice. "Please, don't be."
I have never said the words. Not ever. Not to anyone. Not even to myself. Maybe I foolishly thought if I didn't say it, then maybe it wasn't really real.
When he strengthens his hold on me, I let it out on a whimper, "I was raped."
Releasing a heavy sigh, he lays his head on top of mine, and I continue to cry. I feel so weak and tired, like I'm drowning. I keep treading water, but I can never seem to get my head high enough out of the water to take in a full breath of air. I've been drowning since that night. There are times I feel like I can make it, but then I'm pulled right back under.